The Weekend
by allthingsdecent
Summary: Cuddy convinces a skeptical House to join her on a weekend with friends. Will they both regret it?


The Weekend

"More wine?" Cuddy said.

House grinned at her.

"You don't have to get me drunk, Cuddy," he said. "I'm already a sure thing."

She poured his glass anyway.

Then she bit her nail, looked at him, in an expectant sort of way.

"What?" he said, his eyes narrowing.

"I have to ask you something and I'm afraid you're going to say no."

"I'll save you the trouble: No."

"I haven't even asked yet!"

"You're nervous about it. You're trying to get me drunk to soften my resolve. I'm fairly confident the answer will be no."

Cuddy plowed ahead anyway.

"The thing is, I have this regular weekend with my college friends."

"In New Hope, Connecticut," House said.

Cuddy looked at him.

"I never told you about that—" Then she shook her head. "Your intimate knowledge of my life before we began dating is actually creepy."

"You say creepy, I say thorough."

"Anyway, so it's coming up in a few weeks and—"

"I don't think I'm ready to watch Rachel on my own,"

House interrupted.

"Oh God no! Julia's watching her. I want you to come to Connecticut."

House almost spit out his wine.

"I'd rather watch Rachel," he said.

"Very funny House."

"I'm dead serious."

"C'mon. It'll be fun. You'll like my friends. You even know one of them—Liz Atwood, well now Liz Reeves—from Michigan."

"Never heard of her."

Cuddy pouted a bit.

"_Pleeeease_," she said.

"That face, while adorable, has no sway over me."

"I'll make it worth your while," she said suggestively.

"Sorry," he said, in mock sympathy. "I happen to know for a fact that you're _also_ a sure thing."

"I might _not_ be if you keep denying me things I want."

"You have no credibility, Cuddy. You have the libido of a dude. A 19-year-old dude."

She sighed.

"Why won't you come with me? We've never taken a vacation together."

"Then let's do that," House said, perking up. "Anywhere. Just the two of us. Mont St. Michel. Barcelona. Hell, I'd go to Compton before I spent the weekend Big Chill-style with you and your sorority sisters."

"I want to take a vacation just the two of us, too. But this a planned thing. We do it every other year. And I want to bring my boyfriend."

"Cuddy, we both know this won't end well."

"Why?"

"Because I'll try to be on my best behavior. But my best behavior has a shelf life of 8 hours, max. Then I'll say something to piss somebody off and all of us sudden, it'll turn into that regular weekend with your _former_ friends."

"You have it all figured out, huh?" she said.

"Lots of field data."

Cuddy looked down at the table sadly.

"The thing is, House. Every year it's three couples and me. And they spend the whole weekend talking about how I work too hard and how I need a boyfriend and how I'm not getting any younger."

"Great friends. . ." House muttered.

"And I just want to bring you. And show you off. Just for once, to have _my_ person with me."

House looked at her.

"Your person?" he said, gulping.

"Yeah," she said, blinking at him.

"Crap. I never should've had that third glass of wine," he muttered.

"So you'll go?"

"I guess so," he said, in a defeated sort of way.

"Yay! I love you!" she said. And she got up and began smothering his face with kisses.

"You say that now," he said.

######

Cuddy had called it a cabin in the woods, but it was actually more like a luxury vacation home—replete with three fully appointed guest rooms, a gourmet kitchen, and a beautiful wraparound deck.

It was the summer home of Doug and Amy Summers. Cuddy knew Doug from undergraduate school—he was some sort of big shot investment banker now. The other two regulars were Carl and Sandra Kruger and Liz and Phil Reeves. Liz had gone to med school with Cuddy and Sandra was, yes, a member of Cuddy's sorority. Sandra was now a literary agent in Manhattan; Liz was a psychologist.

The 4 hour drive was actually pretty pleasant, except for House's increasingly annoying joke where he pretended to pull off the main road so they could embark on their own private adventure. They played "Name That Tune" on the oldies station—House won 32 to 4—and swapped stories about their favorite road trips. (For Cuddy, it was down the west coast with her girlfriends during college spring break; for House, it was by himself on his bike, cross country, between his junior and senior years of high school. "Your parents let you do that?" Cuddy asked. "_Let_ is a relative term," House said.) They stopped at a roadside diner and House ordered a second piece of pie—something he never did—and Cuddy knew it was because he was delaying the inevitable.

Predictably, they were the last to arrive.

"Why do I feel like I'm about to be judged?" House said.

Cuddy chuckled.

"Because you are," she said, attempting to smooth his messy hair before giving it up as a lost cause. "But on the bright side_, _at least_ they_ don't bite."

House shrugged a shoulder, began pulling their luggage from the car. (When it came to House and lifting things, there was always a complicated algorithm in Cuddy's mind: She calculated the risk of House getting physically injured vs. the risk of injuring his pride. Luckily, House traveled light and Cuddy's luggage was on wheels. She let him carry the bags.)

They knocked and entered. There were hugs and girlish squeals from the ladies—friends from college tended to have a youthful giddiness that lasted a lifetime—firm handshakes for House from the guys.

Eventually, they all retired to the den, where a fire was crackling. (It was early September: the perfect time in New England for warm days and slightly chilly nights).

Cuddy was grateful when Doug offered House a glass of scotch. Poor House looked so tense. A little social lubricant was definitely just what the doctor ordered. Especially since he was fresh meat and therefore the primary focus of attention.

"You don't even remember me, do you?" Liz teased.

"I. . uh. . ."

"Now you've broken my heart a second time," she said, winking at Cuddy.

"I what?" he said.

Liz addressed the room.

"House taught my Intro to Endocrinology class at Michigan. He gave me a C minus," she said.

"Whoops," House said, cringing a bit.

"To make matters worse, I had a HUGE crush on him. We all did," she said. "And 20 years later, of course, Lisa Cuddy nabbed him."

"Actually sooner than that," House said under his breath.

But no one heard him.

"So how did you two hook up all these years later?" Sandra asked.

Cuddy waited for one of House's patented jokes—that they had met on a dating website for registered sex offenders; or that he was the doctor in charge of her gender reassignment surgery.

Instead, he said simply, "I work for her."

Wow. He really _was_ trying to be an adult.

"Really?" said Sandra. "For how long?"

House and Cuddy exchanged a look.

"Umm, going on 12 years now," Cuddy said.

"12 years, huh? So was it a friendship that turned to romance?" Liz asked leadingly. "Or a long simmering attraction that you two finally consummated?"

"A little of both," Cuddy said.

"More of the second one," House said.

And Cuddy squeezed his hand and smiled at him.

"I can imagine Lisa would be a very distracting boss," Doug said with a grin. "I, for one, doubt I'd get any work done."

Amy playfully hit him.

"So what's it like sleeping with the boss?" Doug continued.

House hesitated, sunk deeper into the couch.

"It's, uh. . ."

"Can we stop grilling this poor guy and grill some meat instead?" said Carl. "I'm starving."

And House looked at his new ally gratefully.

######

That night, House and Cuddy settled into their room. It was decorated in the kind of quaint, homey décor—patchwork quilts, lace curtains ropy throw rugs— that seemed de rigueur in New England summer homes.

Amy showed them where the extra towels and blankets were in the closet and told them that breakfast—Doug's famous cornmeal waffles—would be served at 9 am. Then she said goodnight.

"I thought she'd never leave," House said, collapsing on the bed.

"Sorry about my friends," Cuddy said, crawling next to him. "You're like the new toy everyone wants to play with."

"I know a toy I'd like to play with," he said, climbing on top of her, kissing her.

"We have to be vewy vewy quiet," she said, putting her finger to her lips, Elmer Fudd style. Then she kissed him back.

"Hey, _I'm_ not the screamer in this relationship," he said, kissing her neck.

"I think I can control myself," she said.

"Oooh, sounds like a challenge," House said. Then he wrinkled his nose. "You probably shouldn't have said that."

"It's not meant to be a. . ."

But he had already removed her shirt and was grazing her breasts and stomach with pillowy kisses, his mouth slowly moving downward.

He unsnapped her jeans and then pulled off her panties.

"Now remember," he said. "Shhhhh."

His face was instantly between her legs.

Damn him. He was trying to make her scream, which would usually be good news—but her friends were only a few feet away in various rooms. She was determined to control herself.

Of course, he knew just where to put his tongue, where to flick, probe, and caress.

Her body began to involuntarily vibrate. She was already getting close.

If he had just let her come the first time, when she was right on the edge, she could've controlled herself, but he eased up—slowing his pace, until she was positively squirming beneath him.

"House please. . ." she begged.

He looked up from his handiwork, gave a little raise of his eyebrows. Then he went back to work.

She tried to regulate her breathing, with little success.

His tongue began lapping at her clit more quickly. She was rubbing her own breasts now and she began to writhe and moan—loudly.

It was already a victory of sorts so finally, mercifully, he probed deeply and quickly. And she tried to be quiet, but—fuck, fuck, fuck—it felt so good, as he got faster and faster and the tip of his tongue touched her just in the _riiiiight_ spot.

"Fuuuuuck!" she screamed loudly as she came.

And House emerged from between her legs, looking inordinately proud of himself.

Once she regained the power of speech, she eyed him.

"You're a little shithead, you know that?" she said.

"I refuse to apologize for giving you a mindblowing orgasm," he said.

She grinned mischievously.

"Turnabout is fair play," she said, reaching between his legs.

"I was positively counting on that," he said.

#####

Any illusion that her friends hadn't heard them was pretty much shot the next morning.

House and Cuddy padded into the kitchen, both dressed in robes. Doug was stirring the waffle mix with a hand mixer, and everyone else was sitting around the table drinking coffee.

"Sleep well?" Sandra said, grinning at them.

"Or at all?" Liz said.

And the entire room cracked up.

House protectively put his arm around Cuddy and kissed the top of her head. And she realized, quite suddenly, that she didn't care.

Mixed with their laughter, she knew, was their jealousy. And she loved every minute of it.

Her happiness, however, lasted for all of an hour. After breakfast, it was decided they would all bike to the lake, have a picnic, and take out Doug's "little sail boat."

House said he was going to stay back at the house.

"You don't need to bike. You can drive," Doug said, eyeing House's leg.

"Thanks but I'd rather just lay low here, if nobody minds."

_I mind_, Cuddy thought. But she couldn't force him.

She gave him one last, beseeching look.

"You sure?" she said.

He nodded.

"It should be hot enough for a swim!" Doug said brightly. "Hope everyone brought their bathing suits!"

#######

Six hours later, they returned. She found House in their room, sitting on the bed, reading a dusty, fat paperback book.

"Hey!" he said.

She was wearing a bikini top and denim shorts, with an unbuttoned linen shirt. Her hair was still damp from swimming and she had gotten sun—her cheeks and chest were rosy.

She didn't reply.

"Did you have fun?"

"It was okay," she said, in a monotone sort of way.

"You're pissed at me," he said.

"No I'm not."

"You obviously are. Cuddy, look at me."

She looked at him.

"What did I do wrong this time?"

"What's the point of coming on this vacation if you don't actually participate in it?"

"Cuddy, I'm trying. You know this kind of thing doesn't come naturally to me."

"I didn't ask you to tell jokes, be the life of the party. I just asked you to be physically present."

"On Doug's boat?" he said, rolling his eyes a bit.

"What's wrong with Doug's boat?"

"Nothing. I'm sure it's a great boat. And I'm sure Doug likes nothing more than describing just how great it is."

It was true. Just like Doug's "cabin in the woods" was more like a luxury mansion, his "little sailboat" was actually more like a fully appointed yacht.

"It was fun. You could've read—" she peered quizzically at the book in his hands:James Michener's _Hawaii_. Not his usual fare.

"It was the only halfway decent book they had on the shelf," House explained. "It was all cookbooks and self-help books and romance novels."

"Well, you could've read it on the boat."

"I'm sure _that_ would've gone over well."

"At least you would've been there."

"And deprive Doug the pleasure of giving you a private tour of his captain's quarters? Of making supposedly innocuous comments about how good you look in your bikini?"

"Oh, so now you're jealous," she said.

"I'm not jealous," House said. "I'm just making a simple observation: Doug has the hots for you."

"No he doesn't."

But her mind flashed to something Doug had said—"I knew there was a reason I bought this boat"—when Cuddy had stripped down to her bikini. So he _was_ flirty. It wasn't like it meant anything, right?

"Cuddy, trust me. He craves your bod. I know the signs."

"Stop trying to change the subject."

"I'm not," he said. "And you got too much sun, doctor. Let me rub some aloe vera on that for you."

He got off the bed, limped to the linen cabinet, found a tub of sunburn lotion, and squirted some onto his hand.

He moved toward her, went to touch her collar bone, but she wriggled away.

"I can do it myself," she said, taking the tube from his hands, and heading toward the bathroom.

He watched her walk away.

"Great," he said. And he rubbed the extra lotion on his pants leg.

#####

By dinner time, she had thawed a bit.

"What's for dinner?" he asked.

"Oh, so you decided to grace us with your presence?" she teased.

"Cute Cuddy," he said.

She smiled at him. He had showered, changed into a sky-blue shirt—he knew it was one of her favorites—and khakis. He had made an effort.

"Can you at least _try_ to contribute to the conversation? Just a little?" she said, putting her arms around him. He smelled like soap.

"You won't be able to shut me up," he said.

She kissed him.

"I'd settle for a few words strung together, perhaps in sentence form."

"Done," he said.

It was a nice enough night that they decided to eat on the deck. Grilled steaks and corn on the cob.

"We missed you at the lake today," Liz said.

"I get seasick," House lied.

"I could've stayed on shore with you," she said. "We landlubbers must unite!"

Cuddy glanced at House. Apparently, she wasn't the only one who was the object of a crush.

House was doing his best during dinner. Not saying much, but contributing the occasional comment or smile.

That is, until Doug changed the subject.

He and Amy had recently gone through a family crisis: Amy's sister, Diane, had been diagnosed with an aggressive form of blood cancer. She was in remission now, but it had been quite an ordeal.

"Look, I know we have a few doctors sitting around this table," Doug said, looking at House. "But her oncologist was an absolute piece of shit."

"How so?" said Sandra.

"He told us nothing about Diane's condition. Didn't consult with us on any of his medical choices. He left us completely in the dark."

"I hate that kind of arrogance," said Liz.

Cuddy glanced nervously at House. She saw him clench his jaw a bit.

"I know! This guy acted like he was God or something."

"I do have a few doctors on staff who prefer to be called Your Holiness," Cuddy joked, trying to diffuse the tension.

"I would never recommend this doctor to a friend," Doug said. "Not in a million years."

"I'm sorry," House said, testily. "Didn't you just say your sister in law was _cured_?"

Cuddy sighed. Here we go.

"Yes, but that's not the point," Doug said.

"Then what _is_ the point?" House said.

"That we, as family members deserved the right to be involved in her treatment."

"Because of all your years of medical training and experience with Myeloproliferative disease?" House said. "Oh wait, no. That was the doctor."

"There were a variety of treatment options and we should've been informed of them."

"Why? So you could pick the wrong one? So you could screw up her treatment? You shouldn't be criticizing this guy. You should be sending him flowers."

"He treated us like we were morons."

House looked down at the table and didn't reply, but his silence spoke volumes.

"A doctor is not just there to treat the patient," Doug said. "He's there to ease the worry of the sick and their family."

"Actually, no," House said. "He's not even there to treat the patient. He's there's to treat the disease."

"What House means to say is—" Cuddy started.

Amy, who had been quiet, suddenly dropped her fork on her plate.

"You weren't there!" she said loudly, her lower lip trembling. "We were scared out of minds and he made us feel like we were annoying him with our stupid questions."

Cuddy looked at House. Surely he wouldn't so insensitive as to goad a woman on the verge of tears.

"Because you probably were," House said.

And with that, Amy burst into tears and stormed from the dinner table.

Doug watched her in shock, then turned to House.

"You're a real asshole, you know that?" And he went after her. Liz tagged along.

Everyone left at the table stared at House with their mouths open.

"I'm sure you didn't mean to upset her like that," Carl started.

"Oh, he meant it alright," Cuddy said, glaring at House.

House looked at her for a second, then stood up, folded his napkin, and placed it on the table.

"Excuse me," he said. And he limped away.

######

He found a bench on the outskirts of the property and he sat there for hours, brooding.

By the time he came back inside, the house was dark. (Someone had left a small lantern for him on the table which was a good thing. It got pitch black at night.)

When he got to the bedroom, Cuddy was already asleep.

He climbed into bed.

"I'm sorry," he whispered to her back.

But she didn't stir.

#####

He woke up a few hours later and sensed, before he knew for sure, that she was gone from the bed.

He took his lantern into the hall, but turned it off. The light was on in the kitchen. There were voices: Cuddy and Doug.

House tiptoed to the kitchen door and surreptitiously peered in.

Cuddy was sitting at the table, in a robe, drinking tea. Doug was standing next to her. He had obviously just arrived in the kitchen himself.

"Can't sleep either?" Doug said, chuckling.

"No," Cuddy sighed.

Doug opened the refrigerator and pulled out a tray of deli meat and condiments, clearly left over from the day's picnic.

He started making himself a sandwich.

"You want one?" he said.

"No," she said. "I'm good." She seemed subdued.

Then she looked up at him.

"I apologize for House earlier. He can be very. . .impolitic at times."

_Don't apologize for me Cuddy_, House thought. _It's not your fault._

"There's no need for _you_ to apologize," Doug said.

_Exactly._

"Is Amy okay?" Cuddy asked.

"She's fine. She's been extra sensitive these last few months. Diane's illness was hard on her. House just triggered her."

"He does that," Cuddy said.

Doug sat down across from her.

"Lisa, do you mind if I ask you something?" he said.

"Shoot."

"What do you see in that guy?"

"What do I see in my boyfriend of 14 months?" she said, a little sharply.

"It's just a sex thing, right?" Doug said. "I mean that's what everyone is saying. That it's just a sex thing."

"What _everyone_ is saying?" Cuddy said, increasingly annoyed.

"All the girls have been telling me how sexy he is. I don't see it myself, but then again, I'm a dude," Doug said.

"Trust me on this, he is," Cuddy said, with a dry chuckle.

From behind the door, House smiled.

"I happen to think the female half of the relationship is pretty hot stuff, too," Doug said, flirtatiously.

"Thank you," Cuddy said. But she barely smiled.

"How come you and I never hooked up at Michigan?" he said, not taking a hint.

_He is so dead._

"Because I wasn't into you," Cuddy said.

_Atta girl._

"Ouch."

"I always saw you as just a friend. And now I see you as my _married_ friend."

"Happily married," Doug said, unconvincingly. "And I want the same for you."

_Nice save,_ House thought.

"That's very thoughtful of you."

"We're all just trying to figure out what you see in this guy. He's obviously somewhat. . .antisocial."

"What I see in him is that I'm in love with him," Cuddy said.

House closed his eyes for a second, swallowed hard.

"No need to get defensive, Lisa. We all just care about you."

"He's a brilliant man. He's a truthteller. He despises hypocrisy. He calls it as he sees it. Usually these are wonderful qualities. Sometimes, particularly at dinner parties, they're not," Cuddy said. "But I'm not in love with him because he's good at a dinner party."

"It just seems like a lot of . . . work."

Cuddy huffily stood up from the table. House suddenly realized that she was heading back to the bedroom. He quickly limped down the hall, practically dove onto the bed. But before he got there, he distinctly heard her say, "He's worth it."

######

He pretended that she woke him up.

"Hey," he whispered in the dark, rubbing his eyes.

"Hey," she said. "Sorry I woke you."

"It's okay," he said. "I wasn't sleeping very well anyway."

"Me neither."

He turned on the lamp next to the bed.

"Cuddy, I'm sorry about before."

"It wasn't your finest moment."

"I owe Amy and Doug an apology."

"Yeah, you do."

"I feel like an asshole," he said. "That's why I left."

"Where'd you go all that time anyway?" she said. "I was going to send out a search party."

"I sat on a bench."

"For four hours?"

"It was a nice bench."

"Did you at least find the lantern I left for you?"

"Yeah. Thanks. Cripples in pitch black rooms are rarely a good combination."

"I know. That's why I left it for you."

"Cuddy," he said gently. "I owe you an apology, too."

She gave a sad smile.

"It's okay House. You tried. And I know you tried because you love me. It backfired horribly, but at least you tried."

And she chuckled.

"I'll do better tomorrow," he said.

"Good," Cuddy said, facing him, stroking his cheek. "Because tomorrow, I thought maybe you and I could rent a canoe and go for our own boat ride and swim."

His eyes widened.

"What? Just you and me?"

"Yeah, just you and me."

He was excited for a second but then collected himself.

"But that's not what you want," he said. "You said so yourself. This weekend is about spending time with your friends."

"My friends are getting on my nerves. Doug keeps hitting on me"— she shot House a "don't start" look—"And if Liz bats her eyelashes at you any harder, she might actually take flight."

"We could bring Carl, though, he's cool," House said, with a tiny grin.

Cuddy laughed.

Then she kissed him softly on the mouth.

"I love you, you idiot," she said.

"I love you, too," he said.

A thought occurred to him: "One possible snag for tomorrow," he said. "I didn't bring a bathing suit."

"Who said anything about wearing bathing suits?"

THE END


End file.
